


Waterfalls in Pyeongchang

by Anonymous



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Freeform, Gen, PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-07-07 17:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15913206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The fading swan beats its wings, one…two…and a lifetime of echoes.“Did you know, Habi, that stars are millions of light years away?”





	1. Chapter 1

The ice swallows Yuzuru again.

 _He'll be back_ , Javi mutters between staggered breaths, watching the figure clad in raindrops and feathers carve hydroblade paths around the rink. Here a spread eagle, there an Ina Bauer, every move a brushstroke in ethereal calligraphy the world may never fully comprehend.

Javi looks and sees a white desert with a comet in the center. Yuzuru Hanyu, breaker of world records, the pride of Japan, now a two-time Olympic Gold Medalist, bopping his head to an unheard beat while engraving some sort of musical notation with each turn of his obsidian blades. He throws himself into a triple axel, and an image flashes in Javi's memory of two popped salchows and an interview gone horribly wrong.

He takes a step backward. It's time to leave, he knows. He looks at the gaps, at the faces he does not see. Mao is gone, Yuna is gone, none of Yuzuru's former podium mates are anywhere near the top. Patrick is retiring; a generation of quad specialists is on the rise. They are young and bursting with energy and he is counting hours now.

He scrapes ice off his blade and rubs it in between his fingers. At his first Olympics, he had this crazy, crazy thought that he could take some of this fairy-like stuff back home as a souvenir.

This time he lets go.

After all, this is Olympic ice, and Olympic ice has always loved Yuzuru Hanyu.


	2. Chapter 2

On the night of the short program, Javier dreams of fighting windmills on steel blades. He dreams of rescuing princesses with bloody shins and fingers who are all spinning and spinning and spinning too much. He jumps quad loops from windmill to windmill, and on his last leap he slips and plunges into the Niagara as the TCC bell hammers away at his ears.

Javi wakes up early the next morning.

Pyeongchang is as cold as ever, but the sun is up and the rink awaits and a few notches on the thermometer can hardly faze him now. The scars of two decades of wrestling with the ice are uncharacteristically light on his chest for the first time in months. He hopes this is a good sign.

The world will be watching. Spain will be watching. Today will be the skate of his life — one final battle, one final quest. Tomorrow he is coming home.

_It's been ten long years..._

* * *

He skates after the Pooh hail, giving his best, his pieced together weary self, his everything. On the first touch of music, the thundering leaps outside his chest and into the arena. He breaks the opening pose and prepares for a quad — one of those direly _treacherous_ things, if he fails then it's over, he's been working so hard so _please, please let him keep that spot_ — he lands it! He didn't miss, he didn't fall, his face is not on the floor... _yes, yes, YES!_ He survives the next jump, and there he is, the old knight heading off to face the world, feet and arms and cold-numbed brain reliving a lifespan in a song, a decade in four-and-a-half minutes.

And then, the music fades. Dulcinea is gone, the quest is over, the world comes to life again and the clapping that follows drowns out the crest and fall of his own heartbeat.

His coaches hug him afterward. Like always. Like family.

It feels as if a long, black winter has come to an end.

* * *

Javier is ranked third after the long program. At last, after eight insane years and the nightmare that was Sochi he gets his own spot on the podium. Yet success is bittersweet; this was his last Olympic free skate and that failure of a jump came back to haunt him.

(Apparently, it's not the Olympics if he doesn't pop a salchow. This better not be a permanent fixture of his dreams from now on.)

Shoma skates last, gets silver, and looks about as lost as a kid who just saw a frozen lake for the first time.

Yuzuru wins by sheer force of will and cries enough for all the podiums combined. There they stand: Javi, smiling, with Shoma, smiling, all eyes on the rightful champion, also in smiles, because the time for tears is long over. But then Yuzu _clings_ and the cameras go wild, and between his training mate's complete breakdown and Shoma's bewildered face, Javi can only grip them both as tight as he can, wishing them all the best for the future and trying his best to convey all the gratitude, solidarity, and support one could pack into a single farewell embrace.

_Thank you, goodbye. And yes, you can do it without me, Yuzu. You always have and you always will._

This is, in essence, their toast to the last quad. Every regret fades to background noise until it's just them, three people in three different costumes hanging on to each other for dear life. There is too much happiness, too much that goes unsaid and it's overwhelming.

They part when the announcer's voice beckons them one by one to center stage. Javi is the first to go, the first to take his place before the reveling crowd. Streaks of red and yellow rise from the seats in exaltation as notes from the homeland blast through the speakers. And yes, this is it — his impossible dream, their shared triumph. Spain's victory as much as Japan's. There couldn't possibly be a more glorious end to his career.

Even the striped stuffed toy looks happy.

There's something different about this Olympics, and it's more than the promise of bronze glinting off his chest. It will not be gold, not this time. Not even silver. He accepts this knowledge like the truth behind eclipses and how blue flames are the most deadly.

All that matters is that they made it. Javier reached his unreachable star and Yuzuru is now a galaxy of his own. Today's victory has secured the Japanese champion's permanence in figure skating's hall of fame. Generations will hail him for his performances, his records, his brilliance and bravery. The one born with wings, the shooting star that lit the world and never burned up. He reminds Javi of military jets, flying into the storm at full speed and crushing it with the twist of a finger.

Yet once upon a time he was just a teenage boy with an overbite and an unstable salchow, and Javi sees traces of that still in the man who leaps onto the podium with a broken ankle. If only there was a way to stop the minutes, the little trickling things called seconds — to go back, and do it all over again. Back to the first time, to their first medal ceremony, long before their face-off for world titles, when things were simpler and fans less obsessed and Yuzuru's genius had yet to transcend the sport itself. Back to Sochi, when all Javi dreamed of was sharing the greatest stage of all with his training mate. Back to their first competition, their first handshake, their first combined stroking session under TCC's roof.

But time flies, and it takes things with it. And often, refuses to give them back.

Javi knows his light is fading. Sports are a fickle thing; people move on and people forget. Thirty years down the line and all his achievements will likely be nothing but a mere footnote to his rival's career. But he will have this to remember for the rest of his life: Brian and Tracy leaning in when his score was announced, the warmth of all the Pooh bears raining down like little suns. He will have this to keep, for all the times they doubted his sanity, for all the times they questioned Spanish blood on ice. For all the falls, the spin fails, the stumbles in the step sequences he fought through just to make it here.

If he did not meet Brian, if he did not take that plane ride, if he hadn't followed his sister to the rink…

If no one believed in him…

If no one taught him to believe in himself…

_Once I was seventeen and depressed. Once I was twenty and my coach gave up on me._

Now look where he is. The crowd is ecstatic in a way he's only ever witnessed in a live soccer match. Everywhere he looks there's a Spanish flag popping up, more than he can count and way more than he's ever seen at a _Winter_ Olympics. It's a sight to behold: Gangneung arena transformed into a sea of red and white and gold, and it's beautiful, so, so beautiful, and —

In fact, if he had his phone, now would be the perfect time to take a selfie.

But he doesn't have his phone.

And he's not Misha.

It barely registers when Yuzu beckons him and Shoma to the center. A few awkward steps toward him and the three of them have their arms wrapped around each other once more, posing for what could be the photo of a lifetime.

And possibly, his very last chance.

Should he or should he not?

 _Ah, who cares?_ He's a two-time world champion. European champion, half a dozen times. Olympic bronze medalist. And Hanyu's training mate. And Hanyu's training mate. _And Hanyu's training mate_. (If he dies tonight, some deranged fan may actually inscribe that on his gravestone; he'll have to ask Laura to check every few years for any suspicious marks.) And they can all label him whatever they want, but he is first and foremost, Javier Fernandez, and if there's one thing he knows, it's how to have fun.

He tickles Yuzu.

(Because yes, there may be room for only one sun in the sky, and yes, there may be only one North Star…  
…but there's the moon and the clouds and stardust, and he can be one of them, and that is enough.)

Yuzu is definitely giggling now.

He holds his breath, taking it all in — the cooing, the cheering, the wild rush of blood to his heart; a bell rings, and in the space of twenty blinks, it is gone.

* * *

Shoma is the first to disappear. Yuzuru vanishes mid-laugh, along with everyone else. Brian is missing, the audience is missing; gone is the podium, in its place an overturned canoe, and not one of the palm trees surrounding him is reminiscent of Pyeongchang.

He stares down into pure water. The curls on his head are longer and his face six years younger, and the concept of de-aging could have been amusing if he wasn't scheduled to receive a medal in a few hours.

He looks up and sees a flag with crossbones.

Oh. A pirate ship.

 _Ooh_.


	3. Chapter 3

Javi is twenty years old and there's a pirate ship in front of him. He can hear the cries of seagulls bombarding the cliffs around the cove, and a soft melody welling up from the restless waters.

 _Forget the medal_ , it seem to tell him. _Forget it and join me._

He climbs aboard. It's all wood and rope everywhere. Golden threads form pentagrams on the topsails of the three-masted ship. A coat of red and black stretches from stern to prow, with an enormous marble sword under the bowsprit that glistens in the sunlight.

"Chopin?" someone calls. The sparkling figure runs the length of the deck, avoiding tripping over little paper dolls scattered around and mumbling hasty apologies whenever he knocks over one of them.

"Chopin! You forgot to change the flag! The Phantom will be angry!" warns Yuzu. "Chopiiiiin!"

The person in question rolls out of the mattress and stretches languidly. "Sorry. I'll fix it now," he yawns. "And it's _Ballade._ Please, stop calling me Chopin."

"Can the two of you get to work? It's late." Yuzu glowers at them from the captain's seat, hurling his two-toned glove at the rigging. It misses by an inch and falls overboard.

"Oh, that was the last glove. What are you going to throw now, Phantom?" Yuzu asks.

Yuzu run a hand through his hair in frustration. He spots Javi climbing off the ladder but gives him no notice, too busy side-eyeing a bamboo flute in the midst of the paper figures on deck.

"No, not Seimei's flute! That's special to him. You already took both his gloves!" Yuzu whines as another Yuzu presses two fingers to his face as if to cast a silencing spell.

_Okay._

_Hold on a second._

Javi rubs his eyes. The saltwater is making him see things. He wipes his eyelids until they're completely dry and when he looks up there are four Yuzurus on the ship.

 _Four_ Yuzurus. _Four_.

The talkative one, draped in a rhinestone-studded costume Javi has never seen before, is Crystal. The fabric reminds him of silver honeycombs and fresh spiderwebs and the froth of waves retreating from the beach, and he looks almost blinding as the sun's rays break into a million four-point stars on his torso and shoulders.

The one by the piano is Chopin.

"It's _Ballade_. Ballade the firstborn," he insists.

 _Ballade the firstborn_. Right. Sitting close to the edge is the astute enchanter, _Seimei,_ fiercely concentrated and eerily calm, looking exactly like the champion standing next to him just minutes ago. He closes his eyes serenely, and a slip of paper in his hand bursts into flames with a flick of his fingers.

"Seimei! Are you trying to set the ship on fire again?" Yuzu— or the _Phantom_ , Javi supposes the figure in wine-red and black is called— stage whispers in the most hauntingly dramatic fashion he's ever seen from his rinkmate so far.

_Correction: ex-rinkmate. You're retiring, Javi, remember?_

"Is Phantom really his name?" he asks Crystal.

Crystal shrugs. "He won't tell us his real name. Chopin suggested to just call him 'Phantom.'"

"As I said, my name is _Ballade_. Ballade the firstborn. When will you ever stop calling me Chopin?"

Seimei gets to his feet in measured steps and walks toward the Phantom with the solemn grace expected of a court noble. "Shall I proceed with the incantation now?"

At the Phantom's nod, the resident magician strikes a pose, legs crossed, and raises his arm. His lips move wordlessly as he performs a staggered pirouette, brings both arms together, lowers them in a stately bow, and flings them both up again. He then pauses midway, arms lowered to his side and confusion knitting his brows. All eyes go to Chopin, who is staring blankly at the leaf of paper with bars and thick dots.

"Chopin, you may play now. I already transcribed the music," Seimei reminds him.

"But I told you, I can't read sheet music. You have to hum the melody to me _three times_ before I master it."

"We have to repeat _everything_ to you _three times_ ," interjects Crystal with a trill in his voice, shimmering so painfully that Javi has to look away.

"That's because I have to hear it perfectly," he explains coldly.

Phantom buries his face in his hands.

"Maybe the stranger can help," suggests Crystal, and the next moment dark eyes are penetrating the depths of Javi's soul.

"Can you play a flute?" Seimei asks him.

Javi stutters. "I can't."

"Even a few notes would help," Crystal encourages him with a smile as brilliant as his clothes.

"No," Chopin cuts in. "It has to be _perfect._ Every tune has a specific mood to evoke, every rhythm precisely matched to the—"

"Just blow on it!" the Phantom shouts, gesturing wildly and accidentally slamming his hand on the rail.

 _Ouch. That's definitely going to hurt._ Javi winces as the back of his palm turns scarlet. Crystal tries to calm him down from his temper tantrum, Seimei closes his eyes and meditates, and Chopin plays random finger exercises on the glass piano.

Four Yuzurus. And they're all crazy. It's as if Javi's staring at a personality trait chart come to life.

"Maybe we should get on with the… uh, the spell?" he suggests when the Phantom threatens to slice a hole in the sails.

Seimei is the first to react. "Alright. I will attempt the magic without the help of your music." Having said that, he begins to recite:

_Crystal memories in the sea of time. A sailing journey beyond time and space, to the end of the world…_

"Wait, not that one. It's the other chant," Chopin cautions him, but it is too late. The waters stir and a tidal wave rocks the ship, throwing Javi into the sea. The torrents slam him against the hull, alternately sucking and pushing him toward the stern, and he braces for impact as his next breath is knocked out of his lungs and—

"Javi? Javi! Javiii!"

He blinks. Gone is the water, gone is the ship. Besides the residual sweat from skating his free program, there's no water soaking his clothes at all. He glances downward. He's wearing skates. The ocean has transformed back into a flat sheet of ice, and the blast of the sun's heat is replaced by the glow of artificial lights from the ceiling.

"S-seimei?"

"What's the matter? You were spacing out," says the newly crowned double-Olympic champion, face filled with concern.

"Where— what— Yuzu?"

Yuzu casts him a suspicious look that softens instantly. "You must be very tired now. Maybe you weren't able to sleep last night? You nearly skated into the boards!"

"I did?" Oh. Wow. _Olympic Bronze Medalist Suffers Accidental Concussion Due to Over Hallucinating_. What a terribly embarrassing headline that would be. How did he even get off the podium without falling on his face?

They circle the rink. Javi writes off his vision as a weird daydream and waves to the crowd. He poses with Yuzu and Shoma, hugs Yuzu and gives him a high-five, all smiles, pretending he isn't as shaken as he is. The group selfies end all too soon; the media crowds around their number one star, and Javi is too distracted to think of anything besides his skate guards and costume at the moment.

It may have been a hallucination.

But he's never had an episode that bad since his last prescription of anxiety meds back in Russia.

_Seriously, what on earth is going on?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently incapable of writing anything remotely serious, so… have a bit of nonsense. ^^

_At last, the medal. His first, Spain's first— bronze and beautiful from its imperfect shine to the bamboo scars on its face that mirror the ones carved into his skin like mementos from battle-driven years. In the nation's eyes, an unprecedented triumph; in his own, the world's greatest treasure, his life and dreams crystalized into one solid metal disk to hold to his chest on his flight back home…_

" _Plane_ flight _._ Not boat flight. Why is the boat flying anyway?"

"Seimei used the wrong spell again."

Javi lets out a groan. This is what happens when you overdose on coffee and hear sirens crying in the shower stall.

He leans over the railing to get a better view. They're soaring/floating/gliding – _what do you even call it when you're levitating ten feet above the surface_ – and it's taking all the magician's energy to bring the boat down. The prow tilts downward and the whole vessel careens into the waves with a huge splash that sends water flying toward the piano.

Chopin sighs.

The air fills with salt and murmurs of _kuyashii, kuyashii, kuyashii, kuyashii, kuyashiiiiiii._ He hasn't seen Seimei lose his cool like this: panting and sweaty, hair flying in all directions, kohl half-moons under his eyes and nerves so frazzled he'd probably send a planet crashing upon them if he could. As if it wasn't enough, there's the sound of things toppling over below deck.

And someone singing.

It's so tense up here that Javi is tempted to go check on the Phantom instead of having to witness the grief in Seimei's gaze.

"Anyone want to join him?" he asks the other two.

"Only Phantom and Crystal can sing," says Chopin, who is wiping the newly tuned piano. It seems to have sustained some water damage from the last time Javi was here.

Crystal declines politely. "Seimei's flute fell overboard when the waves hit us the other day. He's trying to get it back and I promised I'd help him look."

"You mean he's been casting all kinds of spells ever since?"

"He's like me. He doesn't know when to stop," says Chopin.

"Seimei, please! You're exhausted," Crystal tries to warn him, to no avail.

"Just…one…more…try," he gasps. With the last of his strength he conjures a wave. A large grey blob rises from the water and hovers toward the boat.

"I don't think that's the flute," says Crystal.

"It must be even more junk," Chopin sighs, as the onmyouji maneuvers the dark bubble onto the deck. It bursts mid-air and splatters on board.

"It's a—"

"SHARK!" screams Crystal, and indeed there's a five-foot long thresher shark, lashing against the piano legs with its whip-like tail. "Send it back, please!"

But Seimei's magic is at its limit. Javi rushes to help Crystal and Chopin hold down the monster fish so one of Seimei's oversized paper dolls can toss it back into the sea. The magician collapses to his knees, completely exhausted.

"How long has he been doing this?" asks Javi, still a bit dazed from what transpired, and Chopin is the only one calm enough to reply.

"Forty times? Fifty? He never stopped since you left."

"He hasn't slept either," says another voice.

They turn around to see the Phantom watching the scene. His boots clack on the hardwood floor, cold and hollow. "Give up already. You have to replace it. Ask Chopin to buy you a new one when we reach the shore," he advises.

"But Phantom, that flute is precious to Seimei," Crystal protests. "It's his only memory of his best friend."

"It's just a flute." He reaches for a stuffed toy tied to the mast.

_That… was not a good idea._

"Just a flute?" Seimei snaps. "You think it's not important?" There's a sharp edge to his voice, and Javi knows this can't end well. "Don't you have anything valuable to you? You just throw everything away! You push everyone away!"

The Phantom's grip tightens on the rope. "You don't understand," he says, with an icy glare to match.

"And _you_ don't care! You—" he composes himself before delivering the final blow, "you don't have friends."

"Friends are distractions. I don't need them." Phantom stalks away, toy in hand, and climbs down the ladder. Before long they hear him sing, but it sounds like screaming this time. Something breaks.

Chopin shakes his head. Crystal looks on the verge of tears. Maybe now is the time for Javi to intervene.

"I didn't see the bear last time," he remarks aloud.

"Oh. Seimei fished it up accidentally in the middle of the night. He found all kinds of things there, from a broken robot, to women's underwear, shells, maybe two dozen bottles, sea snakes, a jellyfish… there was a message in a bottle, too. We got rid of most of them, but Phantom kept the bear."

So in this dimension, Phantom is the one with a soft spot for Pooh? Wait till Brian hears about that.

"He calls it Winnie," Crystal adds, looking so forlorn that Javi can't help but squeeze his waist in reassurance before heading down. He descends the ladder carefully, careful of his step. The light below seems to dim into a tiny speck, and the world grows darker and darker until he wakes up.


End file.
